


Everything is permitted...

by Inkognito97



Series: We are assassins [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Assassin's Creed II, Ezio is Desmond's ancestor, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Saving the World, Time Travel, saving Ezio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:05:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9184966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkognito97/pseuds/Inkognito97
Summary: Once more Desmond Miles is send back to help one of his ancestors. This time, he will not have to protect Ezio Auditore da Firenze alone however. Old enemies will arise and new ones will appear.Sequel to "Nothing is true..."





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed or any of its characters... They are just borrowed...

“It is time again, Desmond Miles.” The young male with the short brown hair and with golden eyes sighed at the sound of the all too familiar voice that echoed through the mostly abandoned room. Only Desmond, his two most important friends and comrades, as well as his father were working in the heart of the Assassins’ hideout.

“Was that...” Shaun began and Rebecca finished the sentence for him, “Minerva?”

“Yes,” Desmond answered and turned away from the countless monitors he had previously watched.

Five years have passed since Desmond’s last adventure and a lot has happened since then. William Miles had stepped down from his role as the Assassin’s leader – their mentor – and Desmond took it. Since then their small organisation counted a lot of small victories and a lot people joined the Assassins, because of the terrifying things Abstergo had done. Granted, no one would have known about them in the first place, hadn’t it been for the Assassins’ work. They had discovered and collected everything they could get their hands on and in the final step of the plan, the Assassins had made those information public. The public had been in great outrage. Of course Abstergo had done everything to cover everything up. Despite all their efforts – as well as heir avoidance of any kind of sanctions – the eyes of the people had been opened.

“You said that it is time... time for what?” William Miles cut in. The four Assassins stepped away from their working places and met in the middle of the room, standing in a circle. As if on cue, a golden shimmering person appeared right before the eyes. For a moment, the light and the monitors flickered and the temperature dropped for the briefest of seconds.

“It is time to travel back, to once more save the world.”

“So, Juno has appeared again?” it was more of a statement than a question.

“No, Desmond Miles,” the woman shook her head, “Your arrival in your ancestor’s time, influenced the other periods.”

“And that is, why time-travel is forbidden,” Shaun said, which caused four pairs of eyes to settle on him. “What?”

Desmond shook his head and focused bag on the taller female, “What exactly has my appearance in Altair’s time caused?”

“Ezio Auditore da Firenze, his life is in danger. Your appearance made certain events happen, others did not. The result is a threat that could be the end of your line.”

“Now does this not sound promising?” Rebecca asked sarcastically. “What are we going to do about it?”

“I will send you, Desmond Miles, back in time.”

The golden eyes assassin nodded, “In other words, I have to do all the work on my own... once again.”

To all their surprise, the woman chuckled. If they were honest with themselves, they had not expected Minerva capable of such a sound. “You will not be alone in your journey, Desmond Miles, and you will have the chance to righten what is wrong.”

“You speak in riddles,” Desmond stated matter of fact and his comrades nodded in agreement.

“Every question will be answered in due time.”

“In due time, eh?” Shaun cut in, “If that isn’t convenient.”

Minerva glanced at the speaker, “Perhaps you are right. I shall create a connection between you and your followers, so that they may provide you with needed information... Yes, I shall give you this...” she folded her hands for a moment and when she opened it, a glowing object started to form. In wonder the four assassins watched as a familiar shape emerged.

“Really? Button ear pieces, really? I mean, we already have those,” Shaun explained and threw his arms up to get his point across.

“I have modelled these after your tools. They will help you communicate through the time periods. I guess your devices are not capable of such a feat.”

“No, no they are not,” Rebecca replied before anyone else could. She also stepped forward and gladly took the offered devices, before handing them out, but not without a glance to Shaun that said more than a thousand words.

Desmond took his ear piece hesitantly. It wouldn’t be visible, which was probably good, but he still had a bad feeling about this and his instincts were usually right. At least they had been for the last five years.

As if sensing his line of thoughts, Minerva suddenly spoke up, “No critical harm will befall you, Desmond Miles.”

“No ‘critical’ harm?” William Miles stepped in.

“I cannot guarantee that you will not be hurt, but my healing abilities are as good as ever.”

“Such an answer...” Desmond sighed, “What exactly do I have to do? I mean, what has changed?”

The goddess’ eyes became distant, “Your ancestor has strong and powerful enemies, too powerful for him alone. He is too young and inexperienced to face such a threat just yet. He just recently became an assassin.”

“Oh great,” the golden eyed assassin would have rolled said eyes, but he barely kept himself in check. “He had enough firsthand experience to know how hard it was with a new and freshly made assassin, he had taught enough people in the last years to know it pretty well actually.

“You will do great, Desmond Miles, I have no doubt.”

“That makes one,” the assassin retorted.

“Well,” Shaun began and he looked around, “actually that makes four.” He shrugged and next to him, Rebecca and William nodded in approval. Desmond wasn’t sure how to retort to that.

“Then it is decided,” Minerva spread her arms and her glowing intensified, “Your journey will begin now.”

“What?” the assassins said in unison.

Minerva did say nothing else, but her light now started to surround Desmond as well. Before either of the assassins could so much as wish ‘good luck’ or say ‘goodbye’ their mentor had already vanished.

“Now what? Are we going to tell the others that our leader is currently on vacation?” Shaun asked into the round.

“It would be best, if we told them the truth,” Rebecca stated.

William sighed, he was getting too old for this, “I say we wait until we can contact Desmond...” That sounded agreeable to all their ears.


	2. The Circle of Life

He should be shocked, afraid or at least surprised to find himself in an abandoned alleyway in the ancient Italy, Desmond figured. He was neither, in fact he was pretty calm, which was strange in a certain way. Perhaps it was due to the endless sessions in the Animus and the developed sense of belonging, or perhaps it was because he was finally able to have some peace and calmness after those five years. It was not like he didn't enjoy his work in the Brotherhood, he was just always busy being the mentor and all. Field work was something he hadn't done in a while, that is all. Desmond knew that he wasn't out of shape though; he made sure he wasn't and the training sessions with the Novices probably helped. Perhaps he was even fitter than ever before.

 

With a last stretch of tingling muscles, clearly a side effect of travelling through time and space, the leader of the modern assassins looked around and analyzed his status. Better prepared for every possibility than being caught unawares, he decided.

What Desmond noticed first were the clothes he was wearing. He immediately identified the black cloth with the light silver armour as the uniform Maria has gifted him during his latest travel back in time. He refrained from asking where they had come from though. He guessed that the goddess was responsible for this and he had to admit that he would have stood out even more with his normal assassin clothings. The next thing he noticed were the few people, who were walking on the main street that crossed with the alleyway and who he understood completely. One woman had talked about some handsome rich guy she was trying to marry, not that Desmond particularly cared. He just found it interesting, as well as confusing that he suddenly understood Italian. The golden eyed assassin shook his head, he had more urgent matters to attend to. The question was, what should be his best first step?

“Finding Ezio might be a good first step…” Desmond mumbled to himself. Shaun would say that he was crazy, since he was talking to himself, but in all honesty, it helped him collect his thought. Not everybody was a wandering lexicon like Shaun Hastings after all. Even Rebecca talked with herself. Granted, she talked with her machines, but in the end it was the very same thing. Not that Shaun would agree to that...

 

With new found purpose the time travelling assassin stepped out of the dark and dirty alleyway he was hiding in. He was planning on getting a good picture of the town he had been sent to and who knew, perhaps he actually knew which town he currently was in.

With trained steps Desmond 'vanished' in the crowd. Not a single soul paid him any attention, everybody was minding his or her own business and absolutely no one paid a lonely hooded figure in the middle of the day any attention. They probably felt secure because of the guards Desmond's trained eyes had spotted. He knew better. In all honesty, he thought those guards were overrated and dirty drunkards, or in other words, no match for a trained assassin. Desmond doubted that they would pose any real challenge to the Novices he had trained just this week. What really made them dangerous were their numbers. Even he could not win against a hundred of guards, not when they all attacked at the same time. Those masses were thankfully not given.

 

Desmond was not quite sure how long exactly he had walked through the streets. It was still the middle of the day, so much did the current position of the sun tell him. He had however, not figured out much, beside the name of the town he was in. Florence, of all places was his destination. This was definitely posing to be interesting. It also meant that Ezio was relatively experienced. Not quite the mentor he was destined to become, but not the reckless and impulsive young man from the beginning either. Desmond was not sure if this made matters worse or better. Either the other assassin was still naive enough to trust him and his story, or he was too stubborn and proud to acknowledge his words. Then again, perhaps he was lucky. Now why did that sound so laughable to the modern assassin?

A sudden commotion to his right caught Desmond's attention. People were screaming in panic and running away from something. This was most likely the sign of danger or at least something they considered to be dangerous. The golden eyed man's senses started tingling. This could be his chance of finding his ancestor. Without second thought Desmond began running towards the heart of the commotion. It was not as easy as it sounded though. He had to move out of panicked people's way in order not to be squashed. In the end he decided that travelling across the rooftops was the better way. That and it make him feel free again. Back in his time, he had not much time for such trips and Desmond shamelessly admitted that he had missed free-running. Perhaps even more than all the other action. 

 

The crowd of running people soon became less and less. It was a clear indicator that Desmond was getting close. The screaming and clashing of metal on metal was also a good hint. 

Barely out of breath, the time traveller cowered at the edge of one of the rooftops. From there he had a good view over the whole place. The place was huge, surrounded by well looking houses and countless of booths stood on the place and all kind of merchandise was presented. It didn't take him long to spot the cause off all the fuss, but WHAT he saw, almost made him fall from the building. Those white clothes with silver armour and brown leather belts could only belong to one person and it wasn't Ezio. 

“What the hell is HE doing here?” Desmond asked aloud. He had partly expected Minerva to answer, but the goddess did not say a word. Then her previous words echoed in his head. 'To righten what was wrong…' He scoffed. Why did this not surprise him? And why did the goddess even care? 

An angry yell came to his ears and he glanced back at the fighters. Altair was surrounded and Desmond could see even more guards approaching. Why did this scenario look so familiar to the modern assassin and why was Altair always in so much trouble?

With a defeated sigh, Desmond put on the hood – like a proper assassin in action was supposed to – and he ran further on top of the buildings, closer to where his ancestor was fighting.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to create another parallel between this story and its prequel. I think I managed quite well... so, what do you think?  
> Please leave a Review! ;)


	3. Encounter

The edge of the roof came closer and closer, but Desmond kept on running. He had calculated the jump, the height he needed as well as the speed and the point where he wanted to land as soon as he started to run. Perhaps calculation was not the right word for it. He had it in his blood, generations of ancestors have given him this gift. No, he didn't need to calculate a thing, he just KNEW. 

The modern assassin could feel the wind against his face and the feeling of falling. This is what he had been born to do. It had taken him time to acknowledge and to accept this gift, but in the end – and perhaps it was only thanks to Abstergo and the dreadful Animus – he had realized this truth.

The moment his body had reached the highest point in his jump, was when he pulled his knees up to his body, followed by raising his right arm. A second later he was beginning to fall. His hidden blade activated during the short flight and before he knew it, it was already over again. He landed relatively soft on the guard’s body. His blade has found its mark and Desmond felt warm blood on his hands. In one fluid move, the time traveller got up from his crouching position. The guard remained motionless on the ground, colouring the dirty streat red.

 

He killed at least four more guards until they noticed that a second asassin had joined the fight. It took them even longer to come up with a new form. Unfortunately for them, Desmond had already figured their tactic out before they had completely planned it. It might have been amusing to watch for any outstander, but it was surely strenuous for Desmond and beyond humiliating for the 'trained' guards. 

Steadily the modern assassin fought his way over to Altair, who was bravely holding his own.

“Need help?” Desmond cheekily asked. The other male sharply turned around and there was first confusion, then surprise and then shocked realization on his features. With disdain Desmond noticed that Altair hadn't changed much, while he himself DID look older. A little more than five years were not much of a time, but he had had a lot of stress and Rebecca had – more than ones – pointed out, that it was palpable in his face.

“Khasir?” Altair asked stunned. Desmond involuntary flinched inwards. He had forgotten that Altair had used a different name for him. It had once meant more for the two of them. If it still did today, remained to be seen.

“Behind you,” Desmond yelled when an enemy approached the other assassin. Apparently they did not have time to talk just yet. Not that Desmond was eager to have this talk, but still.

They kept on duelling, even though it was rather a slaughtering on their parts. It was about twenty guards against two highly trained assassin leaders, hardly fair for the guards. They eventually realised this too and fled as fast as their legs could carry them. For one moment Desmond thought about running after them, just so he could avoid having THAT talk with Altair, but the last five years have taught him many things. Running away from responsibilities is not an option; it was only one of those valuable lessons.

 

Slightly panting, Desmond wiped away the sweat that had started to form on his forehead and he put his sword back in its place. Behind his back, Altair was doing the same. His robes spotted a lot more blood however and Desmond was already forming a plan on how to get rid of them. Then again, his ancestor probably knew how to wash them out. Perhaps he should get a few tips from him.

He finally turned around and immediately straightened out of habit. He always did that when he addressed other assassins, except for his friends and family. His father had told him to do so, in order to look more like a person of respect. This way he would create some professional distance between him and the Novices. Desmond had been reluctant at first, but after William had told him an embarrassing and bad story from his own past, Desmond had agreed. He certainly did not want to repeat his father's mistake… ever.

“Khasir?” Altair's voice broke the silence once more. The careful expression on his face was almost comical. But somehow Desmond did not feel like laughing right now.

The time travelling assassin tilted his head and crossed his arms over his chest, “Altair.”

For the briefest of moments something like joy flickered across the Syrian assassin's features, but it was gone as soon as it had appeared. Instead a shadow passed over Altair's face. Desmond was not quite sure what it meant, but from the way the other male's shoulders hunched and the way he turned slightly away, the time traveller knew that it was shame the other felt. Shame and probably a good portion of regret as well.

“You are not hurt, are you?” he didn't even wait for an answer, “Good… we should get going, before reinforcement arrives.” He had already turned his back to Desmond.

“This is not Syria you know,” Altair gave him a strange look. Then again, he WAS stating the obvious.

“I know that,” Altair replied hesitantly.

“Then don't presume that you know the people here and their antics. This is another century, two thousand years your future to be exact…” he hesitated, “and don't presume that such a pitiful excuse will get you out of that talk.” He would later admit that those words had been pretty harsh, but from experience he knew that Altair would not understand it otherwise. The first reaction would most likely be stubbornness, but once the man had thought about it, he would see the truth in those words.

Despite it all, or perhaps because of all, Desmond was completely done with the world, with his ancestor and everything else right now, especially when said ancestor did not immediately reply anything. Perhaps he should have granted his ancestor a few minutes to understand what happened, but he was not in the mood to do so. He would have enough time when they left this bloody market. Still, the other man was not looking at him.

The time traveller forced himself not to scoff or scowl and simply turned his back on Altair. This little adventure would proof to be a lot of fun… at least that is what the modern assassin feared. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave a review behind. ^^  
> Reviews feed the plotbunny!^^


	4. Heavy Cross (to bear)

Chapter 3:

 

Desmond knew that Altair was following him, even though he did not really see him. He COULD have spotted his ancestor with help of his eagle vision, but why should he confirm something that was absolutely clear anyway? There was no way that Altair would leave him behind or leave him at all, especially not in a 'foreign' terrain. Perhaps Desmond should have told his ancestor that he knew Florence like his pocket, which is why he was currently heading for the highest building. He wanted to make sure that Altair would find his way too, despite their quarrel and disagreements, he still cared for the stubborn Syrian. Now that he thought about it. It WAS Altair who did not know this place. It could also have been a reason for the ancient assassin to follow him.

 

Desmond was surprised how easy it was to climb the cathedral. The building offered a lot of stones and bricks to hang on and with the aid of the countless colourful windows, Desmond was not even out of breath once he had reached the rooftop. Standing there, he had spotted the white wearing assassin before Altair had the time to hide properly. The time traveller wasn't sure if he should wait until Altair would risk another glance, if he should make a sign and hope that his ancestor would see it thanks to his eagle vision or if he should just continue to climb and wait for Altair to come on his own terms. In the end he decided to do the latter with a touch of the first option. 

He continued his way up until he was sitting on one side of the vertical beam of the cross, legs dangling in the air. He was facing away from the actual cathedral, which meant that he had a good view on the market place and the people that had gathered around the scene of murder, while he himself would most likely not be spotted. If you ignored the current state of the market place, it was a gorgeous view, especially since the sun was already setting and therefore illuminating everything in a warm orange light. He did not see Altair another time, but he didn't had to. At one point, he heard silent footsteps on the roof and he immediately knew that his ancestor had finally decided to join him. A few moments later, another person sat on the other side of the cross, but still not looking at the time traveller.

 

Neither of them said a word, but it was not uncomfortable, not just yet. But it was getting darker and if Desmond was honest with himself, he did not want to sleep outside without any protection and with a sulking relative.

The modern assassin sighed, “Welcome to Bella Italia, or just Italy,” apparently he had inherited more from Ezio than he had thought.

“Italy…” Altair repeated. “I think I heard that one before…”

“Really?” he asked, but more for keeping this conversation going than for anything else. Altair hummed in reply.

“Listen,” Altair was nervously fidgeting, “I understand if you… you know… do not want to have anything to do with me anymore, but… I want you to know that I did not mean what I said. I know you are a great assassin, probably better than me in more than one way and… eh, I… I said those things because I didn't want to see you hurt.”  Desmond had suspected that, sometime after he had THAT talk with Maria. The more he was surprised to hear such a heartfelt apology from the man beside him. If he was honest with himself, Desmond would not have guessed that the conversation would go so smooth. He had expected a lot of anger and perhaps even some yelling, but this was quite unexpected. Perhaps it was the stress that made him talk like this, or his mind was just too blown because of the current situation it was in. It didn’t matter though. Even though, the modern assassin was not quite sure what he was supposed to reply. Apparently Altair took his silence the wrong way.

“I'll just give you some time to, you know, think about this. This was a recent event after all.”

“Recent event?” Desmond had found his voice again faster than he would have thought possible and it Altair stop in his movement. The other assassin had started to climb down the cross, but was now pulling himself up again. He was sitting so, that he could face his descendant. 

The confusion was clearly written on his face. “Well, it's been only two or three months…”

“Altair,” Desmond began, “it's been five years... for me.” Golden eyes blinked. The time traveller made no move, just returned the gaze of his ancestor that was slowly changing to something else.

“Five years,” he repeated and Desmond was beginning to worry for the other's mental state.

“Yes,” he replied carefully. “My anger and pity is long gone, Altair. Actually, I don't know HOW to feel right now. From your perspective I should probably lash out or be the stubborn son of a hinny that I know you are,” Altair huffed at that, “but that is the point. It's just long in the past and I guess I have changed.”

“Changed? How?” the Syrian wanted to know.

Desmond shrugged, and he looked at the setting sun again, which was almost completely gone from the horizon. “A lot of this has changed… in my time,” he quickly added the last part. “The world is saved, the Templars' evil schemes have been made public, and I am the current mentor of the modern assassins-”

“Wait, you are what?”

Desmond blinked, “I am the current mentor of the modern assassins,” he repeated. He quickly stole a glance towards the other man and he could have sworn he saw pride in those golden eyes.

“I knew you could do it.” Altair finally said and Desmond could only hear the truth in his words. He gave his ancestor a small smile, which the other probably did not see due to his hood.

“Thanks to you…” for a moment he hesitated, “brother.” Desmond did not have to look to see the suddenly wet eyes of his ancestor. “Leaky, old man?” the modern assassin could not help but ask.

“Watch out that I do not push you off your high horse,” came the reply, but it was only half-heartedly.

“Cross, I'm sitting on a cross, honestly,” he shook his head in a mocking manner and from the corner of his eyes he saw an amused smirk on the Syrian's face, “no wonder the Templar always win… if you cannot even tell the difference between a horse and an old wooden cross…” He was forcefully interrupted by a foot in his back, which sent him tumbling onto the small platform on which the cross was build. He sent his ancestor an annoyed look and a rude gesture, which the Syrian assassin promptly ignored. He was still sitting a few feet above Desmond and the latter desperately wished that he had a camera, because it just looked utterly ridiculous from this perspective. Since this wasn't the case, the modern male turned around and jumped on the railing. Immediately he had spotted his goal and with a barely concealed excitement, he made a leap of faith into a wagon full of pink flowers.

A moment later Altair joined him and he was NOT amused about the flowers that stuck to his robes. Desmond just found it hilarious.

“They emphasise your eyes,” he had said and it had almost cost him a hit on the back of his head. Almost, for he dodged the attempt, which was probably the reason, why the two of them were running through the many streets a second time.

It wasn’t all good between them, but they were on a good way...

 


	5. Visiting an old Acquaintance

Chapter 4:

"No Altair, we are NOT breaking into a cathedral to sleep there."

"Why not?" sometimes he was more troublesome than a young and inexperienced child.

"Because in a cathedral, there are usually priests and those priests usually belong to the Templar, can you make the connection?" They were standing near a river and waited for Altair to put his gear back on. He had washed away the blood stains, which had been surprisingly easy. Apparently he was using some strange substance and Desmond was not sure if he really wanted to know what it was.

"I don't see the problem, we could just kill them," he replied without looking up from his task.

Desmond could just shake his head, but of course it was lost to the other assassin, "This is NOT your home, you know." He reminded his ancestor, even though he doubted it would really interest him.

"It is not yours either," golden eyes finally turned to look at him. The challenge was clear in his them and in the tight expression he was sporting.

The modern assassin grinned smugly, his arms were crossed over his chest and his posture tense, "No, but I have been here already, while this is your first visit to Italy."

Altair scowled and Desmond counted it as a small victory, when his comrade did not answer right away, but put his gear back on. He was clearly thinking, the younger male could almost see the gears turning and smoke escaping from Altair's ears.

"Well, what do YOU suggest then?" the older assassin eventually challenged, he too had his arms crossed over his chest. It was as if a mirror had been placed in front of either male, not that that bothered them right now.

"I know of a place we could probably go," Desmond began and he had tilted his head in thought, "but we would need to be discreet since we have to go back into town."

Altair was not convinced, "And what kind of place might that be?"

Desmond mentally sighed and rolled his eyes, "A friend, or at least he could become one... if you behave." He sent an evil grin to the scowling male in front of him, but did not wait for a reply. He had made up his mind, he would go and seek out Leonardo da Vinci. Shaun would probably freak out at the prospect, which is one of the reasons, why he had not said the name out aloud. The other one was that Altair didn't know who he was either way, the other way around however... Desmond could barely stop himself from chuckling. This would certainly turn out to be quite funny, for him at least.

Desmond could not, for the life of him remember, that getting to Leonardo's workshop was such a difficult task. There were guards EVERYWHERE, even on the roofs and more than once had they been almost spotted. Perhaps it was due to their previous run in, or better, with Altair's previous run in with some guards, but somehow the modern assassin doubted that. Perhaps Juno was already more involved than they had thought, he would need to talk to Minerva or his comrades back home when the time was right. He couldn't do that with his ancestor literally breathing down his neck, he would look insane, more so than he already did.

"Would you mind?" Desmond hissed under his breath. Altair had pressed himself closely against the younger male's back, probably to have a look around the corner as well.

"Mind what?" Altair whispered right back.

This time Desmond did NOT stop himself from huffing in irritation. It was clear that his line had not gotten their brains from Altair. "A little personal space so that I am able to move, would be highly appreciated."

"Personal space is overrated," said an all too familiar voice right into Desmond's ear. The assassin silently cursed Shaun and his stupid comments. The historian would somehow pay for that.

Altair moved indeed away and since Desmond had turned around, he could see the hurt and irritated look in the other's eyes. "Altair," golden eyes looked up at him, but Desmond did not know what to say now, "any ideas?" It was a lame start of a conversation, but at least it showed that he DID care about the older man's opinion.

Desmond moved silently away from the point he had been crouching on, enough to give his ancestor some space. Said assassin seemed to hesitate, his gaze was calculating, then he turned back to his descendant.

"We could walk the other way around," he offered.

Desmond grimaced, "It would take too much time and I somehow doubt that Leonardo would open the door that late in the evening."

"Wait what? Leonardo, are you talking about Leonardo da Vinci?" Shauna almost yelled into his ear piece. "Why haven't you said anything sooner?" Desmond ignored him.

Altair hummed and his eyes darted wildly around. The younger time traveller let him do, he did not even activate eagle vision on his own. He wanted to show his ancestor, that he still trusted him.

"There," the Syrian suddenly pointed out, "we have a few moments when the guard on the roof turns around. There is a blind spot and if we hurry, we might make it to that street undetected. From there on, we will not be spotted."

Desmond hummed and nodded in understanding, "On your sign."

The Syrian assassin turned back to watching the guards. His right hand found Desmond's left one and held on tight. The American assassin did not mind, in fact, he returned the grip just as tight. For a moment they just waited. Then the older male slowly stood back up, his back pressed to the cold and slightly damp stone wall of the house they were hiding behind. Desmond did the same. He was ready to go as soon as Altair gave the sign.

"Wait for it," the Syrian mumbled, "wait... now." He pulled his descendant with him, again something that did not bother Desmond overly much. He was used to being dragged around, thanks to his unpleasant past.

For a moment, it looked as if the guard on the roof would turn around again and if he had done so, he would have undoubtedly spotted Altair's white robes. He didn't thankfully and Desmond would like to believe that it was not luck that the guard dropped his crossbow and had to pick it up, but somehow godly help. Finally in the save alley the two assassins took deep breaths. They both were very much aware that this could have ended differently.

Meanwhile Altair had let go of Desmond's hand again and he was now straightening his robes.

"Let's get going," perhaps he sounded a little too merry, but the Syrian did not seem to mind when he returned his comrade's enthusiasm with an amused grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And don't forget to leave a comment behind. :)


	6. Artist, Genius... what else?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know... It's been a while since I last updated... there is not even a apology for it...  
> Sorry?!?
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter nevertheless!

 

“You are absolutely sure that we can trust this Leona-person of yours?” Altair whispered.

“I’m sure that we can trust Leonardo, yes.”

“Before you knock,” Desmond barely stopped his fist from connecting with the wooden door, “is he an assassin?”

“No, not officially at least. He is more of an inventor, working mostly for the assassins.”

The Syrian pondered a moment, “Very well.” He still seemed not to be overly thrilled with the idea, but he was ready to trust his descendant’s judgement on this matter. He had not done so in the past and learned from his mistakes. When Desmond said they could trust this Leonardo guy, then they could.

Desmond’s fist knocked a few times against the thick wooden door. The sound was dull and loud in the otherwise silent street. The two assassins waited and listened for any sound coming from inside the building, but nothing could be heard.

“Are you sure we are right?” Altair wanted to know, he had taken a few steps back and gazed to the upper windows, hoping to spot something.

“He should be here,” Desmond’s eyebrows were furrowed. Perhaps something had happened to Leonardo, like the time when he had been captured by the templar. He didn’t come much further with his thoughts however, because suddenly a clattering sound came from inside, followed by quick steps on wooden planks. A moment later the door opened.

“Terrible sorry for the delay, I had to,” the artist stopped when his eyes came to rest on Desmond. “Ezio! Do come in and oh, you have brought a friend. Hurry, the guards are very active today.”

Desmond and Altair shared a look, the former shrugged and together, they stepped into the workshop. Immediately Altair’s golden eyes looked in wonder at all the devices and machines the artist and inventor had designed, the Syrian had only spotted things like these with the aid of the cursed apple.

“Excuse the mess, I had no time to clean up. I was not expecting any guests either,” the blonde laughed. “Now, what can I do for you my friend?” There was a bright smile upon his features and Desmond hated himself for the next work.

“Seniore da Vinci,” the artist’s eyebrows furrowed at the unusual address, “but I fear you must have confused me with somebody else.”

The addressed male took a few steps back, there was a bit fear on his features. “I don’t understand.” And it was obvious that he did not like it one bit.

“Now look what you have done Desmond,” Shaun commented, his voice was snappy.

“Just allow us to introduce ourselves.” After a moment the artist nodded hesitantly. Altair had stepped to Desmond’s side. The modern assassin reached up and pushed his hood down, revealing his whole head, he motioned for Altair to do the same. “My name is Desmond Miles and this is Altair Ibn-La’Ahad.”

Intelligent eyes darted between the two time travellers in wonder and recognition slowly appeared on their owner’s features. “You don’t mean...” he was excited.

“Yes, THE Altair Ibn-La’Ahad, writer of the codex pages.” That convinced the artist. Not many knew about the pages, almost none really, and even fewer knew about the author of those pages.

Leonardo gaped openly at the Syrian, who was more than uncomfortable with the whole attention he was given. “And you,” the artist pointed to Desmond, “you must be this mysterious traveller Altair wrote about.” He stepped around the table he had been ‘hiding’ behind and grabbed first Desmond’s hand and shook it, before taking Altair’s. “It is truly an honour meeting two legends. What am I saying, living history.”

Desmond sent his ancestor an amused look. “And you know of us how,” the Syrian wanted to know.

“Oh, right. You wouldn’t know.” He cleared his throat, “At some point you wrote down your knowledge about the apple, the hidden blade, your descendant and much more. You wrote codex pages, with encrypted scripture. It was quite hard to decode, really, which is why Ezio came to me in the first place. It was very interesting what you wrote down, very interesting indeed.” He was still shaking the Syrian’s hand, obviously oblivious to that fact.

 “You wrote about me?” Desmond asked shocked and surprised. He was slightly humbled.

“I guess?” Altair had no idea what this was all about.

“Yes,” the modern assassin shook his head and decided to change the topic, “Seniore da Vinci,” he was interrupted.

“Just Leonardo, I insist.”

“Alright, Leonardo, I had hoped you could help us.”

“Of course,” he let go of the Syrian’s hand, who clenched his fingers into a fist a few times. Instead he took Desmond’s hand and began shaking it. “What can I do for you?”

“Altair and I had hoped that you could provide us with shelter and a place to stay.”

“If it’s nothing more,” the blonde male laughed and turned around. “Come, follow me.”

Again the gazes of the two assassins met, once more did Desmond just shrug. He found it all more than hilarious. Altair at least shared his amusement.

 

They were led up the stairs were Leonardo presented them with a spare guestroom, that was mostly filled with paintings, tools or little constructions. There was also a large bed.

“It is not much and I hope you don’t mind to share...” he looked a little embarrassed.

“We’ll be fine, thank you for your help.” Desmond slightly bowed his head in thanks.

“The honour is all mine. Every comrade of Ezio, is a comrade of me.” With that he gave the two assassins a last smile and vanished back to his work.

“He seems to be a scholar,” it was more of a statement than an actual question.

“He is a genius, he creates things... I cannot describe it,” Desmond took a look around as well.

“I am sooo jealous,” Shaun whined into his ear, again Desmond just ignored him. It was not like the historian was speaking non-stop, which is why the modern assassin allowed a sigh to escape his lips.

“You are tired,” the ever observant Syrian stated.

“Aren’t you?” countered Desmond.

“I am worried,” the older male sat down on the bed, he was quickly joined by his descendant, their elbows almost touching.

“About Leonardo?” his tone sounded amused.

The Syrian shook his head, “About Maria and Malik... and I’m worried about the reason, why I am here.”

“That makes two of us,” he put his hands behind him on the covers and leaned on his arms, gazing up at the ceiling.

“He,” Altair made a movement towards the closed door, “said something about an Ezio...” he trailed off.

Desmond huffed, “Ezio Auditore da Firenze is your descendant and my ancestor... He almost killed a corrupt pope in his life and he had many other accomplishments, he found another apple for example.”

“Another? There is more than one?” he sounded shocked.

“Yes, unfortunately... and the templar from my time need just one to accomplish their crazy plan for total world domination. Up until now, we were always one step ahead, there had been just one incident... it was either my father or the apple. Thankfully all went well, the templar lost this round as well.”

The older man had listened intently, not making a single sound during his companion’s explanation. “As long as you have everything under control...”

“Yeah, that’s so easy when you are stuck in another time, is it?” The way his companion shifted in silence was answer enough. Desmond was not the only one who thought so. “We should rest. Tomorrow will look different.”

Altair hummed, “Do you think we will meet Ezio?”

“Well, I think we can believe that Leonardo will have contacted him by now, if he has already read the message... I don’t know.” With that he laid back down completely.

“I see... move aside then.”

“Nah, too lazy to move,” Desmond had his arms under his head and grinned evilly at the older man.

Altair harrumphed, but decided not to argue, instead he simply climbed over his descendant’s body. At first the modern assassin chuckled in delight, but the sound soon turned to grunts of pain, when the other male literally climbed over his body.

“Serves you right you lazy bastard.”

“Damn son of a hinny,” Desmond shot right back.

“Good night Desmond,” Altair lay on his left side, back facing his descendant.

“Good night Altair,” the modern assassin retorted and he too rested with his back to the other man.

 


	7. Meet and greet

 

Desmond awoke to the sound of silent feet right outside the door. He slowly turned onto his back, and then turned his head to look at Altair. The other assassin was awake as well. Golden eyes met brown ones and a whole silent conversation passed between them. Desmond nodded his consent and pretended to sleep again, he knew Altair was doing the same.

They waited for a moment, there were hushed voices, one of them was undoubtedly Leonardo. The other one could only belong to one person in all Italy, Ezio Auditore.

“Ezio is here,” Desmond whispered. He only got a small grunt in reply.

The voices eventually stopped their discussion and footsteps sounded again. This time they only stopped briefly, before the door was slowly opened. There was a trained killer in their room, a stealthy assassin no doubt, but Desmond and Altair continued to pretend they were asleep. The intruder moved forward until he was standing right beside the bed, were he stayed for a while. The modern assassin could almost feel the Italian’s eyes roaming over him and his ancestor. Then the figure moved again and he drew closer. Desmond immediately knew what Ezio was about to do and he acted.

A yelp escaped the Italian’s mouth, when he was quickly gripped and thrown between the two ‘sleeping figures on the bed. Altair had reacted as well, his activated blade was resting against Ezio’s throat and Desmond’s soon joined his.

 

Desmond found himself gazing into frightened young features. Ezio was still looking so young, he was without his beard. The modern assassin cursed inwardly. He was facing a greenhorn, no doubt that it had been so easy to trick him so, the Italian was hardly more than a boy, a novice.

“Great,” Desmond mumbled. “Let him go Altair.”

The Syrian did as he was told. Ezio did not move an inch, not even when Desmond stood up and stretched. Leonardo was standing in the doorframe, looking fearfully between the three men in the room.

“Up boy,” the Syrian ordered and the Italian immediately followed it.

“He has not yet faced the pope... he barely started his training as an assassin,” Desmond said in Arabic, making sure that neither Leonardo, nor Ezio understood a word he was saying.

“I feared as much,” Altair answered. He was standing right next to Desmond now, his golden eyes measuring the fresh warrior.

“You... you are THE Altair, the real one?” Ezio’s eyes were wide in wonder. The Syrian’s mouth twitched, he did not enjoy to be the hero to everybody, that much was clear.

“And what if I am ?”

“Then you must be Desmond,” the long haired male observed, his gaze now resting on the modern assassin. “But what are you doing here?”

“We would like to know that as well,” Altair answered.

“I don’t know about you,” Desmond interrupted the conversation, “but I was sent here to keep an eye out on our novice here.” He motioned in Ezio’s direction.

“Desmond! It is good to hear from you again,” this time it was Rebecca’s voice that sounded through the ear piece. Desmond was secretly glad, Shaun would just have continued to fangirl over Leonardo da Vinci.

“Then this is probably my purpose as well.”

“Protect me? Why? From what?” Ezio demanded to know, but this time the younger assassins could just shrug. “Thats’, that’s....” he was struggling with words.

“Unbelievable, totally crazy and absurd,” Desmond offered.

Ezio nodded, while he sat down, “Yes.”

“What if the history, like you have seen it in the animus, will not happen like this. What if Minerva sent you back so that you can assure that the outcome will be the same, so that you can make sure that history happens like it did,” Rebecca offered and the time travelling male decided to keep that  in the back of his mind, for later references.

“I would suggest that we move this somewhere else,” the artist in the room suddenly cut in. His posture was tense.

“Leonardo is right,” Ezio stood up again and straightened his robes, “We should not be seen here.” He left the room, the inventor right behind him.

“What does he mean?” Altair asked.

“At this point in history, Ezio is a wanted criminal... everybody, who is associated with him, will be searched and hunted as well. And... well, we DO look a lot like him.”

“Makes sense,” he sighed, “So, I guess the templar are the ruler in this time.”

“You have no idea.”

Altair hummed, his eyebrows almost meeting his hairline and he followed close behind Desmond, who had no desire to stay another minute in this room. If he was honest, then the modern assassin was eager to get back to action. And perhaps he could make Ezio pay for all the damn drama he had to suffer from the man, as well as all the romantic escapades. Sweet revenge was before him and Desmond would enjoy every single second of it.

“Stop looking like this, you will scare the novice,” Altair’s amused voice brought him back to reality.

“What do you mean?”

“I meant that disturbingly dark look you just sported,” he huffed, “you do not want to scare the novice away with it, do you?”

“Well,” he joked, “it would be entertaining to watch.”

“Don’t do it,” the older male pleaded, “I don’t want to run after him.”

“Don’t want to play the babysitter, right?”

“You could say that,” he confirmed.

“A pity, the job would suit you,” Desmond teased and sent his ancestor a broad grin.

Said man just spread his arms in a non-caring gesture, “And I think your blood would really suit my blade as well, but fortunately I have learned that we cannot have or be anything.”

“Lucky me,” he pulled his hood back up again – Altair had long since done this – and eventually went down the chairs to join the two Italians in the workshop. They were just in time to see the blonde artist hand Ezio his hidden blade back. He must have made an adjustment.

“Are you ready to leave?” Ezio wanted to know after he had stepped away from his friend.

“Boy, I have been born ready,” Altair mocked, causing Desmond to sigh and roll his eyes.

“Just lead the way,” Desmond pleaded and thankfully, Ezio just nodded.


	8. On the run

 

In the end, the three assassins had to wait till nightfall, until they could move. Leonardo had wisely decided to scan the area, before they moved and he had reported that apparently all guards in Florence were on duty and searching for three men in white robes. Of course they could have just left their outfits in Leonardo’s workshop, but it was not their way. One, they did not want to endanger Leonardo even more and two, they would definitely not leave their weapons behind. So, they had decided to hide upstairs and wait instead. It had not been pleasant for either of them.

 

From the looks of it, Ezio knew what he was doing. His steps were sure, yet mostly silent. He did not yet rival either Desmond or Altair, but then again, the two of them had more years of training than Ezio had.

“Where exactly are we heading?”

“Monteriggioni,” was the short reply from the youngest assassin. Desmond had not expected much more, Ezio had to concentrate for what was second nature to himself already. One day, the Italian would become a true assassin, one who sought his rival, but until then, he still had much to learn.

The modern time traveller briefly glanced at Altair, who had moved away from their little group. It was better to keep an eye on the Syrian, before he did something rash or stupid.

 

Desmond’s brown eyes gazed up at the cloudless sky. It was astonishing how different everything was. Here, there were no worries about global warming or too much pollution due to cars. Here, the night was clear and you were actually able to see the stars. He had always loved watching the stars, even when he was little, but especially when his father had smuggled him out at night, so that his mother would not catch them. In all honesty, Desmond suspected that his mother had indeed known that they were sneaking out, but had pretended not to notice anyway.

Another thought crossed his mind. Ezio’s mother, sister and uncle would be in Monteriggioni. He wondered, how they would react to meeting him and Altair. He mused that Maria Auditore da Firenze would most likely still be traumatised about witnessing her husband’s and sons’ deaths. If she was even willing to talk to them, what would be close to a miracle, she would definitely not be the best choice for a conversation. Then again, Desmond knew how she must feel, he had lost a lot of people, who were dear to him. Perhaps all she needed was someone to talk, someone NOT her family.

And Claudia, Ezio’s sister, she was another matter altogether. In all his time in the Animus, Desmond had never learnt to read her. She was a closed book to him. Granted, he knew when she was on the verge of getting angry and snappish – that was definitely an important skill – but that was about it. He just could not understand her and her ways... she was... strange.

But the real problem would undoubtedly be Mario Auditore. The man was suspicious and of course he wanted to protect his family. He would deem him and Altair intruders, someone he needed to keep a close eye on. It was hard to say if he too would believe their story, it would not be easy, especially since Altair had not written the codex pages in his time yet, they could not really prove it. Perhaps the armour the Syrian assassin was wearing, would be enough to convince Mario, after all, the exact same armour was hidden under the villa.

 

A movement in the corner of his eyes caught the modern assassin’s attention and without thinking, he dashed forward and grabbed Ezio’s arm, pulling the younger man behind a wall and not a second too late. A group of guards came patrolling the streets, two of them were holding lambs that casted threatening looking shadows and silhouettes on the street, the others were heavily armed. They were probably a testament to the commotion Altair had caused just yesterday.

“Friends of yours?” Ezio asked, but there was more amusement in his voice than anything else.

“You could say that, but I am not in the mood to talk to them right now,” he shot right back. They could have easily taken down the group, they were two fully trained assassins and one talented novice after all, but they did not want to cause an unnecessary scene, especially not in the night, when hiding places were rare and they could not hide in a crowd.

“I think they are gone now,” Ezio said after a while. It was clear that he was getting restless.

Desmond hummed, but stopped the younger man, when he started to move. With his eagle vision activated, he could easily make out Altair’s form. The Syrian was perched on the roof of a nearby house and his eyes were fixed on something else. Desmond followed his gaze and was not surprised to see the guards still standing there, talking among each other. It was clear that they would not move for a while.

“Climb, we will use the roofs. Hopefully, they have not too many guards up there.”  
“We will kill them, if they have,” Ezio’s confidence was nice and the older assassin found himself nodding in agreement. He watched how the longer haired male skilfully started climbing the facade of a nearby house. Before he followed his ancestor, did he look in Altair’s direction again. The Syrian had noticed their movement and was now more alert than before. He gave a brief nod, when he noticed Desmond’s eyes on him, to signal that he understood the plan and then turned to meet them halfway.

 

“I cannot wait until we reach Monteriggioni,” Desmond mumbled to himself. He was sick of running around, avoiding guards.

“Remember son, it could be worse,” William’s voice came over the speaker in his ear.

Desmond made a humming noise, before positioning his foot against the wall, his hands already grabbing onto a wooden plant that stood out just a little. “I will cheer up as soon as the Auditore name is cleared.”  
William made a thoughtful noise. “It cannot be THAT long. When I remember correctly, Ezio saved Lorenzo Medici and from then on, his name was cleared.”

“I just hope it happens anytime soon, but since Altair and I are here...” he let out a sigh, “Some things might have changed.”  
“Yes, but you should not forsake hope,” said the older man.

“I won’t,” he vowed, but did not say more. Ezio was in hearing distance again and he did not want for the Italian to think that he was insane. He needed the young Auditore to trust him, him and Altair.

“There you are, old man,” teased Ezio, “and here I thought I had to carry you.”

“I was just waiting for you to fall, so that I might catch you... novice,” Desmond retorted. The easy joking was a good sign, even if it was still a long way to mutual trust. “Now come on, let’s not waste more time.”  
“Agreed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Phew... here we go. Sadly I didn't make it last year, but well... take it as a New Year gift... or something like that.
> 
> I hope you liked this Little intro and please leave a review. I am counting on you guys!
> 
> My Tumblr: inkognito97.tumblr.com


End file.
